


Decodings

by storiesfortravellers



Category: White Collar
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, M/M, Sensory Deprivation, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-19
Updated: 2012-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-12 11:09:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/490222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter/Neal established relationship.  They try sensory deprivation; it's way more intense than Neal expects but that's not necessarily a bad thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decodings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for af. Originally published on livejournal. Thank you to Ash for the supportive and wonderful beta!

Peter stood behind Neal and carefully tied the blindfold around his head. Then he moved closer as he put a hand on Neal's bare shoulder.

"Everything okay?" he whispered in Neal's ear. His breath came down hot on Neal's ear, and Neal couldn't prevent the goosebumps from rising. Everything felt intense, like he could think of nothing but the voice in his ear and hand resting on his shoulder. 

This is what Neal loved about it, what made him ask for it again and again: this winnowing of experience to touch and smell and sound. Nothing in sight to help Neal escape, just Peter's voice in his ear and Peter's hands on his body, telling him everything he was permitted to know.

It was a mistake to tell Peter what he loved about it. It just gave Peter ideas.

"Can you see?" Peter confirmed, this time his breath moving close to Neal's neck. He must have been leaning down. 

"No," Neal answered. Peter knew he would speak up if he could see, whether Peter asked or not. But that little question was part of it: Peter demands the truth, Neal complies.

"Take off the rest of your clothes," Peter said. Gently, like he always said it. 

It made Neal nervous, made his chest tighten in anticipation. But not in a bad way.

Neal unbuckled his belt, let his pants fall, and he could hear and feel Peter hovering, making sure he didn't lose his balance as he stepped out of his pants and then his boxers. He could feel Peter kneeling then, one arm around Neal's waist to keep him steady, the other reaching down to take Neal's socks off.

Neal complied as well as he could, let his body be shifted and kept in place by Peter. He thought for a moment about what a submissive act Peter was performing - or what would, for someone else, be a submissive act. With Peter, though, the categories didn't apply. No _act_ was inherently dominant or submissive; it was about Peter deciding what happens to Neal, and right now Peter decided that Neal would have his socks removed.

It also might theoretically have something to do with the time Neal tried to take his socks off while blindfolded and fell on his ass. Possibly.

But then there was the sound of Peter getting up and getting something out of a drawer.

Neal waited without a word. This was also part of it; Neal doesn't get to ask what's happening next.

Peter came back soon , though, and his hands slowly brought Neal's arms behind his back as he started to tie a series of knots to bind them in place. Neal relaxed a little, both in relief and to make Peter's work easier. It felt like a cord, leather maybe. Something new, that Peter hasn't used before, but nothing exotic. 

When he was done, he told Neal, "Now the earphones."

Neal swallowed and nodded. They had talked about this, and agreed to try it. It was Peter's idea of course; he came up with it after Neal confessed in a post-orgasmic moment of foolishness that he loved having Peter's voice as his only anchor. 

Peter and his bright ideas...

But Peter felt fairly sure that Neal would like it, and Neal still remembered his safeword even though he's only had to use it once (and that was for a muscle cramp that had nothing to do with what Peter was doing to him). 

So Neal agreed to try it.

When Peter put the earphones in - wireless earbuds, actually - Neal tried to look brave for Peter's sake. He was pretty sure he failed.

But then it was Peter's hand on his shoulder again, solid and warm, fingers gently squeezing their reassurance into Neal's body, and Neal nodded again. Peter gently slipped the earphones in and then he heard nothing.

White noise. Not too loud, but certainly loud enough to block sounds that plain earplugs wouldn't. 

It was not the most ... secure that Neal has ever felt.

Peter's breath on his ear again, then, probably saying something.

"I can't hear you Peter," Neal said, and tried not to make it sound like pleading.

Then another hand, this one at the base of his spine, the other on his shoulder still. Both of Peter's hands on him, reminding him that it would be okay, telling him to breathe.

Neal for a moment wondered if he should just end it here. When he was blindfolded, he still knew things: he could tell where Peter was, what was going on, if any drawers were being opened, if Peter were moving quickly or slowly. The sound of a paddle swinging would give him a split second to prepare, the sound of lube being applied would give him even longer. This - not hearing anything - was something else entirely. 

But then Peter's hands, again. Moving him slowly. 

Toward the table, Neal could tell from the direction. The coffee table, exactly the right height for Neal to bend over and lie flat on if he were on his knees. It was a relief to know where he was going, and he wasn't sure what he would do if he got turned around. Peter was going slowly, hands steady on Neal's body, but it was strange and rather terrifying, and Neal felt clumsy suddenly, as if he would fall over or bump into walls if Peter didn't hold on tight enough.

But of course Peter held on just right.

And then the slightest of pressure downward on Neal's shoulder. A command to kneel.

Neal sank down to the floor easily. With the lightest of touches, Peter guided his body so that Neal's torso was lying flat on the surface of the table. Then with just a slight tap of Peter's foot to the inside of Neal's right knee, Neal knew to spread his legs apart just enough so Peter could give a quick glide of the hand up Neal's inner thigh. 

Neal gasped sharply. It felt... more, somehow. Everything felt _more_ , the sensations even more overwhelming than when it was a blindfold alone. His body was desperate for information and so it intensified the sparse sensory awareness, his sense of touch distilled into something dense and heady. He felt the rough carpet pressing up against his knees. The cool, smooth wooden table under his chest and stomach. The silk of the blindfold on his face and the friction of the ties against the skin of his arms. The occasional swipe of the fabric of Peter's clothes as he moved about Neal, which made Neal imagine what they looked like, Peter still in his suit, standing over a naked and bound and blindfolded Neal, who was bending over, completely submissive, presenting his body to be used. The image alone made Neal's cock swell, and then the suddenness of Peter's rough fingertips on his thighs...

But then a very light slap to Neal's asscheek. And then a light pat on the shoulder, and then Peter's hand on his head, ruffling his hair. And Neal wasn't sure how he knew this, but it was somehow clear that Peter was trying to say that he was going to get something but he would be back right away.

When Peter came back, it was a minute later at least, and the warmth of Peter's hand on his hip was too sudden; Neal tensed up and almost tried to stand, but Peter's other hand came to his back, soft pressure and smooth motion, and soon Neal was lying flat on the table again. Peter gently traced his hands down Neal's neck and to his shoulders, slightly kneading his fingers as if to mimic some hint of massage, and Neal felt these muscles relaxing. It wasn't so much from the physical impact of Peter's hands but from the command they implied: _Calm down, Neal. I'm right here._ And as Peter's fingers pressed their way down Neal's back, he felt his whole body once again move to a more relaxed state, loose and pliant.

And then Peter's lips at the base of Neal's spine. Kissing, softly, up Neal's back, across his shoulder, then down one bound arm and up the other. Wet and hot and excruciatingly gentle.

And then hands moving his thighs farther apart. Peter kissing the inside of his thighs, and Neal tried to imagine what it looked like, Peter crouching low behind Neal's body, but all he could focus on was the stretch of his leg muscles and the feel of Peter's lips. If it were any other kind of play, Neal would have asked Peter to keep moving upward, but instead he said nothing as Peter stopped - heartbreakingly - at the upper thigh. Not that Neal was surprised that Peter had more elaborate plans than that. 

Then Peter brought Neal's legs together again and put a hand on the back of Neal's neck.

It was different, this time. 

It wasn't harder, it didn't hurt, but somehow it was more possessive. Neal knew that Peter was about to switch modes, about to punish.

Neal gave just the slightest of nods.

Something narrow then, gently placed across the line where his ass met his thighs. 

A belt.

Neal nodded.

He tensed up as he waited for that sound of it wooshing through the air, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to hear it.

And Peter took several long seconds before letting the first lash fall. Just to make the anticipation unbearable, Neal knew. 

When it landed, it felt like something entirely different than the last time Peter had used it. Neal was so focused on not hearing the belt coming that he didn't realize the strangest part would be not hearing the impact it made as it hit his flesh. It didn't even feel like being hit -- it felt like a spontaneous burst of pain on his skin, some sudden contact with a flame or hot steel. 

Neal could tell he must have cried out from the sting.

But when the initial astonishment faded, he was aware of Peter's hand on his hip, holding him still. Keeping him there and keeping him from hurting himself in some frightened panic.

Neal made just the slightest motion of his hip, tilting into Peter's grasp, and Peter knew what Neal was asking, and he held on tighter, his hands on Neal's body a promise, a guarantee of something.

After a moment, Neal nodded again. _Keep going._

Another burst of hurt, this time on the other cheek. Sudden and strange.

Neal kept it together and was rewarded with two more in quick succession.

Neal could feel the blindfold moisten and he didn't understand, didn't see why he would cry so much sooner and easier simply because he couldn't tell when the lashes were coming. But Peter whipped him with the belt again -and then again and again - and then Neal could think of nothing but the pain, that concentration of feeling at the exact second and then the slow spread of impact as it melded with the pain of all the other parts of Neal's thighs and ass that Peter had belted. Neal tried again to picture what they must look like, tried to imagine that Peter was angry, even though Peter was almost certainly calm. Neal tried to feel the pain as much as he could, and he imagined Peter was punishing him for something - not for theft- but for not being good enough, or not being smart enough, or for not obeying. Or for ruining everything, for ruining Peter, for ruining everything Neal touched. It seemed like forever since he had heard Peter's voice, and he was able to imagine Peter saying these things to him, saying that Neal deserved to be hurt, Neal deserved to be whipped and fucked and hurt and thrown away. Neal knew that it wasn't real -- he knew that whatever Peter might be willing to try physically, Peter would never agree to say these things, even just in roleplay, even if Neal begged, but Peter's voice wasn't there right now, and Neal's head filled the silence with Peter's rage and Peter's disgust. Neal focused on the pain, repeated silently to himself, _Peter's punishing me and I deserve it, Peter's punishing me and I deserve it,_ as the pain grew worse and worse, until it was almost unbearable, and soon he felt like he was disappearing into the pain, like nothing had ever been as real as Peter hurting him and Neal deserving it.

Neal barely noticed when the belting stopped. But as soon as Peter's hand gripped his dick, Neal came, shooting his seed into Peter's hand as forcefully as if they had been fucking for hours without release. 

Neal wasn't exactly sure whether he walked or Peter carried him to the bed. But he remembers Peter's face as he pulled the blindfold off. Peter smiling, concerned and maybe even a little smug. He said something that Neal couldn't hear, and then Peter pulled the earbuds out and asked, "Everything okay?"

Neal nodded, still out of breath.

Peter turned him on his side and undid the ties on his arms, then helped Neal to slowly stretch his arms back into use.

Peter looked down on him then and it was absurd the way Peter looked, like he thought Neal was perfect, like there was nothing he cherished more than Neal.

Neal moved his hand up to lightly grab Peter's jaw. It was a needy gesture, and one that Neal did not usually permit himself.

Peter smiled and turned his head to kiss the palm of Neal's hand. Then he leaned down and kissed Neal on the lips.

It was hard and urgent, and Neal recalled with a combination of terror and exhiliration that Peter hadn't come yet, which meant the night was just getting started.

"Ready to go again?" Neal rasped, only half-joking, and the scratch in his throat made Neal realize that he must have spent his voice crying out in pain and didn't even realize it.

Peter smiled, greedy, and a shiver went up Neal's body. He knelt on the bed in front of Neal, lifted Neal's legs to his shoulder, raising Neal's hips into position. He moved his hands then up and down Neal's sides, hips to stomach to chest.

Peter said, "This time, you look at me. You're not allowed to look anywhere but my eyes the entire time."

Neal nodded as he observed the need in Peter's look, that gaze that meant Peter was about to see right through him and there was nothing he could do about it. He would have flinched if Peter's hands weren't there at his sides, moving up and down Neal's body, reminding him that even if it hurt, he would still be all right.

"Talk to me," Neal said, just this side of asking. "Let me hear your voice the whole time."

Peter smiled. "I want to tell you how beautiful you are," he said, and only Peter could make that sentence sound like an act of aggression. 

Neal just nodded again, knowing that it would be good. Even if it weren't exactly what Neal was asking, Peter would make it good.

Peter gently pushed two fingers into Neal's mouth to wet them and then moved them to Neal's hole. Neal instinctively looked away, but Peter said, "Eyes on me, Caffrey," and Neal obeyed, struggling -and not for the last time that night - to keep looking straight into Peter's eyes, wishing he could hide. But Peter started talking to him, then, his voice low and solid and kind, telling him what to do, telling him he was exactly what Peter wanted, and it was enough for Neal to keep trying, for Neal to bear his gaze as Peter moved in him, first his fingers and then his cock, building in pressure and speed, until Neal orgasmed again, Peter's hand squeezing Neal's hip tightly to remind him not to look away even as he desperately wanted to look somewhere else (anywhere else). It was only after, as they lay there quietly, limbs overlapping and Neal's cheek against Peter's shoulder, that Neal realized that of all the senses Peter had deprived him of, it was the last one that had left him utterly powerless. It was not being allowed to look away, of seeing only the dark of Peter's pupils, that broke down any chance of concentrating enough to know what was coming next, to figure out the reaction he wanted to show and how he wanted to appear. 

Neal smiled into Peter's shoulder. He thought for a moment about how good Peter was at breaking things into their component parts -- even, it seemed, the way Neal's mind worked. Apparently, it was 1 part observing the environment, 1 part listening for warning signs, and 1 part always having an eye on an exit. Leave it to Peter to systematically burn through all three, and somehow make Neal grateful for it.

"What are you smiling at?" Peter asked then, feeling the twitch of Neal's lips against his skin.

"Just thinking about what a pain it is to be with you."

"Keep talking, Neal. I have plenty more ideas I'd like to try," Peter laughed.

Neal groaned, but moved closer while he did it. Peter held him tightly then, soft but possessive, and hoped the gesture said everything he wanted it to.

Neal ran his hand softly up Peter's stomach. It meant, _I hear you just fine._


End file.
